Patricia Rice (42 page)

Morgan grasped her shoulders and gave her a happy
kiss. “If you say you can find God in the good Church of England, then
I’ll take your word for it. He is not likely to accept me back in the
fold so easily, no matter which church the vows are said in. I mean only
to impress mortals.”

“Morgan!” Faith escaped his hold and stood up to
brush out her skirts. “Don’t be sacrilegious. Besides, how can we marry
in front of all the town as if we were never married before? I’ll not
have George called a bastard.”

Morgan rose and caught her waist and turned her chin
so she had to face him. He was grinning with a happiness. “Dear heart,
we have our marriage papers to prove he is no bastard. We can adopt him
legally under my rightful name. We can hire Miles and a dozen lawyers to
make everything as proper as you can desire. We can pretend I am your
second husband. It matters not to me. I just want the whole damned town
to know you’re mine.” His eyes darkened sternly and he asked, “You
will
marry me?”

She knew she would, but she stood there uncertainly,
watching the pattern of emotions in his eyes. “Are you certain, Morgan?
I could not bear it if you left me again. Or if you found another
woman. If you are doing this just for George...”

Morgan pulled her into his arms and buried his face
against her hair. “Never again, my love. I’ll never let you go again. I
may give you reasons for regret. I’m not a patient man, nor always a
rational one, but you can always trust in my love. If that can be enough
for you...”

Faith breathed a sigh of joy and reached up to pull
his head down to meet her lips. “I love you, Morgan. All I ask in return
is that you love me too. Will you do that?”

He whispered against her lips, “I crossed an ocean
for you, lass. I’m after thinkin’ this love business is a terrible crimp
in a man’s style. But if it’s words you need to hear, there’ll be no
end to them. I love you, Faith, my
cailin alainn,
my wicked
bean sidhe.
I’ll love you till the moon turns blue, till the sun rises in the west,
till God accepts me into eternity. Say you’ll love me too.”

Instead, she giggled and found another use for her highwayman’s silver tongue.

In the harbor, not many miles away, a ship from England found dock.

“We can have the banns declared this Sunday. That should give your Mrs. Needham time enough to find someone to take your place.”

Morgan helped Faith from her horse outside the inn.
The afternoon was drawing late, and he knew she worried about the babe,
but he had to confirm their decision before either of them thought
better of it. Already he was thinking he was robbing her of the future
she deserved, but the idea of his Faith in another man’s arms quelled
that notion.

Faith caught Morgan’s arms to steady herself and
stared at him as if he had lost his senses. “Take my place? I’ll not be
giving up my place. We needs must live on something, and I’m quite happy
here.”

They had to enter the lobby when someone stepped out
and held the inn door open for them. They continued their argument
despite curious stares.

“By all the saints, Faith, you can’t expect me to
let you keep working around all your suitors after we’re married! I’m
not a pauper yet. I’ll find us a place to stay and you can stay home and
take care of George.”

Faith jerked her arm loose and hurried to the
stairs. She could hear her son’s hungry cries. She turned at the steps
to glare down at Morgan. “We have a perfectly good place to stay here.
We can pay rent and take a larger suite.”

As she hurried up, Morgan grasped the banister and
shouted after her, “By all that is holy, Faith O’Neill, you’ll do as I
say when the day comes!”

Echoing faintly, but very distinctly, from the second-floor landing came the words, “Go to hell, Morgan de Lacy!”

Grinning, knowing her spirit to be unharmed, Morgan
turned to discover their audience. Astounded faces stared at him
accusingly, but he rose to the occasion in grand style. With a gesture
to the taproom, he declared, “We’re to be married, gentlemen. Drinks are
on me!”

From the doorway came a single raucous cheer, and
before any other could raise a voice in protest, Morgan turned to greet
the newcomer. Finding a familiar red head, his grin disappeared, and he
elbowed his way through the onlookers to grasp his collar. “I have a
bone to pick with you, Tobias, my lad.” He shoved him into Faith’s
office and slammed the door closed.

Toby grinned. “The blithering idiot returns, by Jove! It’s about time.”

With a growl, Morgan shoved him to the wall. “I
ought to have your neck for taking her away from me. Give me one good
reason why I shouldn’t.”

Toby shrugged as best he could under the circumstances. “She would have come without me if I hadn’t.”

Morgan felt the truth of that, and he reluctantly lowered the lad. “Damn your dirty hide, you could have at least told me.”

Toby shook himself free and straightened his collar.
“Could I, now? And how would I be doin’ that? Those vaunted circles are
not for the likes of me.”

“Oh, shut up.” Morgan clasped him on the back and
shoved him toward the door. “Come have a drink with the rest of us.
She’s agreed to have the banns said and do it proper this time, that’s
all that matters now.”

Toby beamed from ear to ear as they fell out into
the lobby to see Faith’s suitors lingering curiously. Flinging caution
to the winds, Toby pounded Morgan’s back and swung his hand in
introduction. “Gentlemen, meet Black Jack O’Neill, Faith’s late
husband!”

Rage and astonishment filled the room. Fortunately,
Faith was safely ensconced in her attic, contentedly feeding her son
while the inn exploded into turmoil.

***

“I don’t know why in hell you had to follow me. I
can take care of the bitch without your help. This is none of your
affair in any case.” Thomas Montague strode angrily across the crude
dock and down to the barren expanse of land and cheap shacks that was
his first sight of the colonies.

“I just thought I’d make things easier for you, dear
cousin. ’Tis a pity I’m a mite heavy to throw overboard. That storm
would have made quite an effective excuse.” Edward Montague carried his
large form agilely down the platform and looked about with interest.

The heat was oppressive, but he merely mopped his
brow as he looked about for some form of transportation. Surely this was
not the much-trumpeted capital of Virginia. There had to be
civilization somewhere.

“That was an accident, I tell you. You caught me by surprise. I didn’t invite you to come along,” Thomas grumbled.

“As her closest of kin, it is my right to see to my
niece’s safety. That jackanapes thief-taker cannot be trusted any more
than you, dear cousin. He could have sold the information to half of
London.”

“Safety, my foot and eye! You want her out of the
way as much as I do. The old man has his spoon half in the wall and is
twanging it for all it is worth.”

“It’s of no matter to you any longer. He settled all
he intends on you when you married your doxy. That was a damn-fool
thing to do, Thomas. Did you really think he’d believe that overblown
strumpet was George’s daughter?”

Edward waited languidly for a cart and driver
ambling down the road. The colonial hayseed driver appeared more asleep
than awake, but the conveyance looked strong enough to carry his weight.
With irritation, Edward swung his cane and ignored his cousin’s furious
pacing.

“You had better ideas? You let the conniving
highwayman get away. You didn’t know about the book. You didn’t even
find the right damned lawyer. If it weren’t for Lettice, we’d still be
searching for her.”

“We
are
still searching for
her, lumpkin.” Bored with this two-month-long tirade, Edward signaled
the driver. “It should be interesting to see which of us finds her
first.”

From the safety of his hiding place on the ship, a
lean figure listened to this perpetual bickering with increasing
boredom. More than once he’d been tempted to shove them both overboard,
but that wasn’t what he’d been paid to do. He wasn’t even certain he was
being paid to be here, but there were times when a man had to use his
own initiative. He watched the Montagues rumble away before advancing to
the deck and signaling the captain.

As if by magic, two excellent horses appeared from
behind one of the shacks, and the lean man and the captain were
galloping up the dusty road at an entirely different angle from the cart
and its noble passengers.

***

“You shouldn’t be in here. ’Tis not seemly,” Faith
admonished as Morgan settled on her narrow bed. His long masculine frame
filled the meager mattress, but his shoulder provided an effective
pillow as she leaned back and adjusted the infant at her breast.

With his arm about her shoulder, Morgan ran his
fingers across Faith’s smooth cheek, then did the same to his son’s. The
infant scarcely moved from his hungry quest, and Morgan grinned at such
concentration. “We’re married. None can object.”

Faith closed her eyes and tried to drink in all
those things she had missed for so long. The hard muscles of his chest
and arm held her securely, and the masculine musk of his skin aroused
her senses. But it was the seductive undercurrent of Morgan’s voice that
sent gooseflesh down her arms. She shivered and waited for his fingers
to wander farther.

“I’ll have Toby’s head for embarrassing me like that. What must people think?”

Morgan idly pried one pin loose from her hair, then
began on another. “Does it matter? We are married and have the papers to
prove it, though I would not show them as they are. We’ll make it all
right and proper in the church, and the good people of Williamsburg can
just think ours is a romantic tale of a lost lover returning from the
dead. You are so young, and I am so wicked, they will be willing to
believe whatever you tell them.”

Faith giggled. “You really shouldn’t have got them
all drunk. Poor Randolph won’t be allowed out of the house for a
fortnight after they carried him home and left him in his carriage,
without his clothes. That wasn’t your idea, by any chance, was it?”

Morgan stared at the ceiling. “And why would you be
thinkin’ that, lass? I’m just a man celebrating his wedding day. We
really will have to find a place with a higher roof. I’m like to remove
the top of my head if we remain here long.”

Faith gave him an accusing stare. “You are a wicked,
wicked man, Morgan de Lacy. That boy never did anything to you. And
Acton was only trying to protect me. Why did you have to play the part
of chevalier and try to skewer him to the wall? He near had apoplexy.”

“You do have big ears, my dear. Or is it friend Toby
with the big mouth?” Morgan smiled down on her. He could afford to
forgive the world tonight, for he was the one in here with his fair
Faith, and not any of the others. “And what else is a ‘damned Frenchie’
supposed to do when challenged to a duel?”

“Acton did that?” Faith gave him an astonished look,
then, seeing the amusement in his eyes, realized there was in all
possibility a lot more to the story than she would ever hear. “You speak
French very well. I never heard you speak it before.”

“Ahhh,
chere amie, ma petite,
how would you know what I wished to do to you if I said it in French?” he whispered against her ear.

Faith adjusted her son to one arm and ran her free
hand down Morgan’s breeches-encased thigh. Slanting him a roguish look,
she answered in perfect French, “I might figure it out.”

Morgan grinned and began nipping at her ear while
his unhampered hand hooked in the cloth of Faith’s night shift. “An
educated wife is a marvelous thing to have. Can you not tell that
gluttonish son of mine to hurry?”

Eyes dancing, Faith leaned back to face him. “I thought we were to resist temptation.”

“Temptation, yes. Lust, no. Do you have any idea how
long I’ve been without you? Did I not tell you about these marvelous
devices the canny Dutch sell? Before the evening’s over, you will be a
ravished woman, my dear. You may as well surrender yourself now.”

He put the truth to his words as soon as Faith laid
the babe to rest. Her shift was down about her feet before she returned
to bed, and Morgan’s own clothes fell by the wayside as he joined her
there. There was scarcely room for two to lie side by side, but that was
no difficulty in the coming hours. By dawn Faith’s fair skin proudly
wore the abrasions of Morgan’s beard in the most intimate of places, and
the Dutch devices had been well tried and tested. They lay sated in
each other’s arms as dawn broke through the curtains.

“Your son doth wake, milady,” Morgan murmured against her ear.

“He’s your son. Fetch him, then,” Faith countered
sleepily, tucking her head into his shoulder and wrapping her leg about
the warmth of his hard thigh.

“Wench,” he muttered, extricating himself as George’s cries became a little more pronounced.

“Dastard,” Faith muttered a little while later when he presented her with the soggy and malodorous bundle of their son.

“Is it too late to disclaim him?” Morgan inquired as
he watched her strip the babe to the skin and scour him with the
lukewarm water in the pitcher.

Faith sent him a fleeting grin and returned to her
task to the tune of George’s wails of outrage. “Much too late, milord.
Mrs. Needham has already proclaimed you are much alike. Who else do you
know has such a full head of black curls?”

Proudly naked, Morgan stood beside the bed, running
his hand through the maligned hair tangled at his neck as he looked down
on them. “I never looked like that,” he objected.

Faith gave their son a sweeping look, transferred
the inspection to her husband as if to compare their physiques, then
announced grandly, “Want to wager on that?”